


Graveyard

by Twisted_Taffy



Category: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Genre: Billy Agnst, Billy is destroyed, Moist is a good friend, hurt billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Taffy/pseuds/Twisted_Taffy
Summary: The wind swished through the trees, brushing through his unkempt blonde hair and almost bringing to his ears notes of a song he once knew. On the grave of his love, Billy broke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog or any of these characters.

"… _a thing."_ The whisper drifted across the silence; a thud echoing behind it where Billy's head dropped to his knees. His arms wrapped tighter around his bent legs, hands pulling the worn fabric of his blue jacket over themselves. Soft drops fell onto the newly overturned dirt beneath him. He refused to look up at the rough stone before him, lest his shattered heart chose to pulverize itself once more on the hard granite. He didn't have to look anymore to know exactly what it said.

* * *

The wind swished through the trees, brushing through his unkempt blonde hair and almost bringing to his ears notes of a song he once knew. On the grave of his love, Billy broke.

Billy slumped back further, losing the strength to keep himself upright. A single bandage wrapped hand automatically attempted to grasp the strings of the sweatshirt hood, stiff fingers fumbling to draw the worn fabric closer in an effort to preserve heat. He shivered fiercely, the cold sapping the strength from his muscles, but made no attempt to move. _Penny!_ His mind screamed. His lips trembled briefly, hesitating to open, before falling still in hopelessness. He remembered the pain that had shot down his already sore throat the last time he had cried out. It had been far too long to remember what exactly he had been screaming, but he remembered each word had been oil flowing to the fire in his chest. That fire had been put out long ago, the winter chill in which he bathed himself had extinguished the flames, replacing the pain in his body and mind with blessed numbness. _I won't feel a thing._ It had become his mantra, repeated again and again until it was true. He had shivered in the cold for longer than he would admit but even that was fading quickly. He curled on himself more, grateful for his lanky flexibility, and inched closer to the dirty stone behind him. He'd have to clean it soon. He'd done it long ago, but the rain and dirt darkened the rock faster than he remembered. Fumbling his hood closer the fabric pillowed beneath his head as he sunk further into his baggy clothes and his eyes began to slip close. The shaking of his body keeping him conscious had long since stopped, letting his mind fade away as faint notes of a song floated briefly across.

The short man squelched closer to the figure of his friend in the distance, the moisture rolling off his body and slipping into his shoes making them squish with each step. He paid it no heed, he was used to it. Sighing, he took in the pale image of his friend. The man looked like a child huddled in too large clothing, pale skin not old enough to feel the pressure of the sun and face slack in the innocence of youthful sleep. Moist was hard pressed to want to remember the man who had stood in this child's place only months ago, the same sweatshirt and clothes fitting comfortably on admittedly still somewhat pale skin, but the haunting image of the man collapsed before him forcibly imprinted it in his mind. These days the usual frumpy lab coat hid more than just identity and a lack of confidence, the goggle-hidden eyes now sunken and darkened.

The moisture dampening his skin transferred to soak into his friend's jacket as his wrapped his arms around to lift him but he doubted the unconscious man would notice. Billy barely shifted as his friend effortlessly hoisted him into his arms, Moist frowning at the ease it took to lift his friend and the chill that transferred from him. Something threatened to tumble from one wrapped hand (Moist was honestly amazed the gauze hadn't been removed already in a bout of frustration) and Moist caught it, gently laying it down while balancing the man in his arms. Worriedly Moist headed towards home, hoping to return some warmth to the broken man before him.

Without its usual visitor the graveyard was left lonely and silent. An almost forgotten, dirty headstone rested at an angle in the back corner, a bright cup of frozen yogurt placed lovingly before it.


	2. Chapter 2

It pained Moist to see him like this. He rarely saw Billy anymore, the true Billy. Only on these few outings was he allowed a glimpse at his old friend. Awake and moving he was Dr. Horrible, confident and cold in the blood red lab coat and black lensed goggles that frightened away any glances fast enough that you could not see how thin the body beneath the fabric was becoming. Billy was only given the chance to float back to the surface when Dr. Horrible was asleep, and Dr. Horrible never slept, or ate, and barely drank. Billy really didn't come round very often. And when he did it was almost too painful to watch. While the doctor's thick lab coat and goggles hid his failing body, Billy's sweatshirt and thin pants did nothing to hide the skeletal figure, the dark bruises below his eyes. Dr. Horrible's hands were steady, immortal in their strength. Billy's shook in exhaustion and malnourishment. Snake Bite smirked once in passing and told him the fallows beneath the doc's eyes made his image more evil, sinister even. Moist pursed his lips and said nothing in return; he thought they were just his broken heart bleeding through his skin. The Evil League of Evil had found themselves the perfect soldier in Dr. Horrible: loyal, intelligent, quiet, and unable to feel pain. Only Moist ever saw Billy, curled unconscious on a fading grave, the listing unpolished headstone his only support. He'd brush away the tear tracks on his bony cheeks; gather the shaking, frozen limbs in his arms; lay on the grave Billy's gift; and carry him home. There he'd lay him on the bed gently, prying his jacket from clenched fingers so he could fetch more blankets. Half a bowl of soup would make its slow way into the blonde, never staying down for long. Moist would wait by his friend's side till morning, when Dr. Horrible would wake and stalk back to his lab. Moist would put away the blankets, make the bed, and wait.


End file.
